NAAMAN: 
                                  O King,
    I am unlearned in the lore of priests;
    Yet well I know that there are hidden powers
    About us, working mortal weal and woe
    Beyond the force of mortals to control. 
    And if these powers appear in love and truth,
    I think they must be gods, and worship them. 
    But if their secret will is manifest
    In blind decrees of sheer omnipotence,
    That punish where no fault is found, and smite
    The poor with undeserved calamity,
    And pierce the undefended in the dark
    With arrows of injustice, and foredoom
    The innocent to burn in endless pain,
    I will not call this fierce almightiness
    Divine.  Though I must bear, with every man,
    The burden of my life ordained, I’ll keep
    My soul unterrified, and tread the path
    Of truth and honour with a steady heart! 
    Have ye not heard, my lords?  The oracle
    Proclaims to me, to me alone, the doom
    Of vengeance if I lead the army out. 
    “Conquered or conquering!” I grip that chance! 
    Damascus free, her foes all beaten back,
    The people saved from slavery, the King
    Upheld in honour on his ancient throne,—­
    O what’s the cost of this?  I’ll gladly pay
    Whatever gods there be, whatever price
    They ask for this one victory.  Give me
    This gilded sign of shame to carry back;
    I’ll shake it in the face of Asshur’s king,
    And break it on his teeth.

BENHADAD:  [Rising.]
    Then go, my never-beaten captain, go! 
    And may the powers that hear thy solemn vow
    Forgive thy rashness for Damascus’ sake,
    Prosper thy fighting, and remit thy pledge.

REZON:  [Standing beside the altar.]
    The pledge, O King, this man must seal his pledge
    At Rimmon’s altar.  He must take the cup
    Of soldier-sacrament, and bind himself
    By thrice-performed libation to abide
    The fate he has invoked.

NAAMAN:  [Slowly.]
                              And so I will.

[He comes down the steps, toward the altar, where
REZON is filling the cup which TSARPI holds. 
RUAHMAH throws herself before NAAMAN, clasping
his knees.]

RUAHMAH:  [Passionately and wildly.]
    My lord, I do beseech you, stay!  There’s death
    Within that cup.  It is an offering
    To devils.  See, the wine blazes like fire,
    It flows like blood, it is a cursed cup,
    Fulfilled of treachery and hate. 
    Dear master, noble master, touch it not!

NAAMAN: 
    Poor maid, thy brain is still distraught.  Fear not,
    But let me go!  Here, treat her tenderly!

        [Gives her into the hands of SABALLIDIN.]

    Can harm befall me from the wife who bears
    My name?  I take the cup of fate from her. 
    I greet the unknown powers; [Pours libation.]
    I will perform my vow; [Again.]
    I will abide my fate; [Again.]
    I pledge my life to keep Damascus free.